Monday, September 27, 2010

Missing The Cut

Last week I went into Floyd’s for a haircut. I never request
the same stylist because my hair is pretty easy to do. As long as the person
doesn’t force me to make conversation while a loud buzzer is right in my ear, I
have no complaints. Something about being involved in a conversation with a
scissor-wielding stranger that I can’t walk away from doesn’t sit well with me.

I sat down in the chair and the stylist, an artsy looking dude named Dillon, asked
me what I wanted. “Trim the bangs, trim the top, number 3 on the sides,” I
instructed.

He went to work and for the first few minutes we sat in complete awesome silence.
Perfect. Then he had to go and ruin it by asking me what I do. I explained to
him my role in reality TV and he told me how he thought it was ruining society.
Well, good thing you’re saving the world
with your hair gel and oversized bib, I wanted to say. But seeing that he
was holding the aforementioned cutting device only inches from my face, I
thought better of it.

Completely unprovoked by me, he then got into the details of his life. He told
me how he came out to LA to be a musician but he gave it up because his ex-girlfriend
didn’t support him. I should mention, this guy was at least mid-30s and he was
blaming his failed music career on his ex-girlfriend. Surely to do this, I
imagined, she locked away all of his instruments, especially the one between
his legs.

He then told me how he hates the “music scene” in LA because whenever he goes
to see a show on Sunset or at The Wiltern he knows everyone is judging him,
thinking that he doesn’t belong. Take it from a master of insecurity. NOBODY
notices you, man. Even with your jet-black goatee and double nose ring. Even
with your suede vest and light blue colored eye contacts. The only person wondering
why you are there is YOU. Much like his ex got the blame for his failed music
career, the other people at the club got the blame for his failed social life.
I was starting to pick up on a pattern.

Dillon continued to blabber on about his hatred for all things musical in Los
Angeles. Apparently, in his mind, the music industry sucked and the only stuff
that made money was garbage. He claimed he could write a song and make a
million dollars without any effort at all, but if he did he couldn’t live with
himself. The world’s poor musical taste was at fault for his lack of a number
one single.

Being someone who had once blamed an ex-girlfriend for all of the unhappy
things in my life, I figured I would give my new Emo friend some advice. “Maybe
you shouldn’t care about the ‘music scene’ or what makes money or what your
ex-girlfriend supported you with. Just make the music that makes you happy and
do it as an expression of art, an expression of yourself. Not to sell records.
If you make a profit off of it great, if not, at least you were true to
yourself and created something you are proud of.”

It was then that I realized my bangs had been cut uneven.
Maybe the stylist couldn’t see through his tears. I politely asked to have them
evened out and he responded with the following:

“That’s another thing I hate about LA. People need things to be perfect. Back where I’m from people
don’t care what their haircut looks like. I just cut it and they’re happy.” Now
it was my fault that he sucked as a
hair stylist.

As the inconvenienced Dillon did his job and fixed my uneven hair, I realized that
my advice about doing something he would be proud of was completely lost on him.
Dillon did everything half-assed except complain and put on his black nail
polish with little white skulls in the middle of each nail. Life was so much
easier if he hated everything, so that way he had a built-in excuse to not put effort into anything.

Okay so maybe his girlfriend told him his guitar playing was
no good. Maybe his beauty school professor didn’t teach him the proper haircutting
technique. Maybe the people at clubs in LA are
lame. There are a million ways to blame a million people for a million
different things that suck in this world. But if you suck at life, that one,
Dillon, is on you.

4 comments:

HAHAHA I liked this story a lot! Even though you told me a little about it earlier, I like the written version of this story much better. I would not hesitate to tell you if I didn't. So this is Flyod's on Ventura? I am in need of getting shaped-up on the sides. I'll ask for Dillon and tell him I work in the music industry signing new, undiscovered, and unique talent. Then, I'll tell him some b.s. to add to his misery he calls life.

It’s obvious this guy actually enjoys being a LOSER. He’s good at it, maybe even excels at it. I know the type. I used to work with someone (I’d say her name but then I might invoke the Devil) who bitched about everything, from being soooo tired to being soooo hungry, or too full, or too sad, or too sick, or just plain too upset to talk about it, whatever IT was. I’ve learned that some people are just miserable, and really, that’s the only thing that makes them happy. Anyway, we should be glad this guy with the scissors - and a contempt for perfection - didn’t chose the scalpel as his tool of the trade. Good observation Todd!

starving musicians / hairstylists... always an interesting personality to play with... sooooo what does your lair look like now... is it anything like Jim Carrey's Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber?? ;)-Paige